


cold hands, red eyes

by a_ufo_party



Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Established Relationship, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Jotun Loki, Pre-Thor (2011), Sifki Week 2019
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-21
Updated: 2019-07-21
Packaged: 2020-07-10 10:03:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19903942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_ufo_party/pseuds/a_ufo_party
Summary: He had always been cold.Since they were young and the world was young with them, he was cool to the touch. Brushing his hand with hers while skipping rocks, and tapping his shoulder to get his attention always caused an icy shock to her fingers and drew a gasp from her lips. That was just the way he was: cold, but never desiring warmth.As they grew older, his touch became something she craved. Accidental brushes became intentional, lingering hand shakes the norm.And the night he kissed her, and she at last felt his cool lips on hers, her desire for his touch was not quenched, rather, it grew.





	cold hands, red eyes

**Author's Note:**

> Hello friends!!!! Here is my fic for day one of Sifki Week: Confession. Hope you enjoy it! 
> 
> (It is unbeta'd, so please just ignore any mistakes you notice. My lazy ass won't fix them)

He had always been cold.

Since they were young and the world was young with them, he was cool to the touch. Brushing his hand with hers while skipping rocks, and tapping his shoulder to get his attention always caused an icy shock to her fingers and drew a gasp from her lips. That was just the way he was: cold, but never desiring warmth.

As they grew older, his touch became something she craved. Accidental brushes became intentional, lingering hand shakes the norm. 

And the night he kissed her, and she at last felt his cool lips on hers, her desire for his touch was not quenched, rather, it grew. 

They were lovers before they were friends. 

Despite spending their childhoods together, the two had never quite gotten along. However, petty bickering and sideways glares evolved into heated arguments by firelight and spars in which both parties had no intention of surrendering when was proper. And then, one night, during one such duel in the empty sparring hall (all of the other trainees had long since gone to bed) Loki had grabbed her arm and pulled her into a bruising kiss. At first, Sif pushed him away, glaring and breathing heavily. However, moments later, she had thrown his sword from his hand, pushed him backwards onto the ground, and kissed him back. 

The unspoken mutual attraction now out in the open, the two grudgingly surrendered themselves to it. They frequently spent evenings together from then on, arguing until their lips met, and leaving before the sun rose. However, eventually, evenings became nights, nights became mornings, and mornings became days spent in each others company. And Sif was startled when one day she looked at Loki sleeping in her bed beside her and realized she somehow, for no good reason,  _ liked  _ him. 

* * *

**_3 months later…_ **

Sif sat on her bed, angrily braiding her hair and muttering to herself. 

It had been a week since Loki had last slept by her side, a week since he had said more than three words to her. Only seven days ago he had risen from the bed beside her, kissed her lips, and announced that he intended to spend the day in the library researching cloaking spells. That night, however, he did not sit beside her at dinner, nor did he make any sort of reply when she asked if something was wrong. And he did not knock on the door of her chamber when the palace had gone to sleep. 

The next day was just the same; she received only coolness and one word answers to her inquisitions. This pattern continued, with Sif growing angrier each day, until she finally cornered him on his way to the library and pulled him into an empty sideroom. 

...

“Loki, I command you to tell me what is going on.” She growled once she had firmly pinned him against the wall. 

“What makes you think...something's the matter?” He grunted, struggling against her grip.

“Have I done something to offend you?”

“Besides ambushing me on my way to study?”

“You have been ignoring me for a week.”

“Thousand apologies, my lady. I shall try and pay you more attention in the future.” There was not a drop of sincerity in his tone. 

“You are being childish and petty-”

“I am not the one staging an abduction to beg for attention.”

Softening her hold on his shoulders, she allowed him to step forward slightly, before slamming him against the wall once more. Leaning in close, she searched his eyes for some explanation. There was something changed about him, though she could not tell what. And her blood hummed so angrily, she hardly cared. 

“Listen well, my lord,” she started in a low grumble. “I do not play games, nor do I appreciate them. We speak every day, spend most nights together, and then nothing? Not a single word to me, just silence. How is that supposed to make me feel? If you wanted to call off our-”

“Our what?” He interrupted, eyes cold. “Our courtship? Because I wasn’t aware that we were courting.”

“No, we were friends who  _ used to _ enjoy one anothers company-”

“Well perhaps I no longer enjoy yours.” As he spoke, a sad glimmer appeared behind his eyes, but quickly faded once more to indifference. 

Sif stepped back, a stab of hurt slicing through her chest. 

Loki stared at her, unmoving, almost a statue. 

“Very well.” Swallowing roughly, she hardened her expression. “Fine.”

“Are we done here?” Loki refused to meet her eyes as he took a step forward.

Unable to stop herself, Sif pushed her fist firmly against his chest, slamming his back painfully into the wall once more, before storming away as fast as her boots could carry her. 

...

Tying off her braid, Sif sighed and fell back against her pillow. Her hand naturally reached for the dagger she kept on her bedside table and began to twirl it about in her fingers. As her eyes watched the blade shine in the firelight, her stubborn mind drifted to Loki. 

Even in the thick of battle, she had never felt such agonizing rage towards another person. Why should Loki, smug, foolish Loki, have this effect on her? 

They weren’t even…

Well, whatever they had been, it was all over now. 

Good riddance.

The bed was warmer without him, at least. And she could kick and toss and snore as much as she liked without disturbing the prince’s precious rest. There were dozens of men in Asgard alone who would have given anything to trade places with the foolish prince in her bed. 

She would think of him no more-

Her eyes caught a flash of green from the hilt of her dagger, and she sat up. After glancing at her side table to find her silver and ruby dagger still in its place, her head swivel back to the knife in her hands and her stomach sank; it was Loki’s.

With a grunting scream, she threw it across the room, sticking it cleanly into the oak door. 

Then, hot tears prickled the corners of her eyes. She slumped forward, her fists clutching her blankets until her knuckles turned white. 

“Do not cry over Loki of all people.” She seethed to herself, wiping her cheek on her shoulder. “Gods know he isn’t crying over you. You've lost nothing.”

Soon, the desire to rid herself of all things regarding the prince grew overwhelming.

Her heartbeat quickened as she flung her bare feet over the side of her bed and crossed the room to the launched dagger. As she walked, she noticed still more items belonging to Loki. Indeed, he seemed to be everywhere she looked. Ripping the dagger from the door, she went about gathering the rest of his things. The book of spells beside the bed, his forest green vest strewn across her chair, the black marble comb on her dresser. Fuming, she piled these things into a satchel and tossed it over her shoulder. Then, she threw on a dressing gown, and charged out of her chamber, down the hall, towards Loki’s room. 

* * *

He was not there.

After bursting into his room, mouth poised to make the angry speech she’d rehearsed in her mind the whole walk, she froze. 

To any stranger, it would have appeared that Loki slept in his bed, blankets pulled up to his shoulders, chest rising and falling, but Sif knew better; Loki never slept with a blanket.

Tossing the satchel of his belongings onto the bed, it moved cleanly through the sleeping form, without so much as a breath from the figure: an illusion. 

Slowly, the rage and frustration in her veins grew cold with worry. He often used this illusion when he slept in Sif’s room, but obviously that was not the case this night. Adding to her anxiety, the room itself was quite disheveled. Books had been torn from the shelves, clothes strewn about the floor, and dishes of half eaten meals piled on the dresser. This was very unlike Loki, who usually kept his room organized and immaculate.

Turning to face his fireplace, her eyes settled on the cauldron boiling away over the fire, emitting a bitter scented smoke. She approached it and knelt beside the hearth, where she found multiple books piled on the floor on the subjects of potions and cloaking. One, titled  _ Identity and Illusions _ , was still open, and from the looks of the well worn pages, had been read very thoroughly. The open page read:  _ A potion to reverse all non-self inflicted cloakings or illusions (advanced) _ . 

Sif’s eyes moved down the page as she read, stopping when she reached the sentence:  _ A teaspoon of blood is required from the body under the spell, extracted from the palm of the left hand. _

Her stomach turned. Surely Loki would not…

Her eyes flickered to the light grey carpet in the center of the room. There, in a dripping trail across the fabric, were copper colored stains. However, to Sif’s further distress, the drops seemed to fade from the rusty red, to purple, to dark blue. 

Something must have gone wrong. Rising to her feet, she turned and surveyed the room for any other signs of distress. Loki was not the sort of person to ask for help when he got into trouble, even going so far as to hide his distress from those close to him. A foreboding knot settling at the bottom of her stomach, Sif turned to the door- 

But perhaps she ought to leave it alone. He obviously did not want her company, so why should she seek him out? 

_ Because you still want his, _ her betraying thoughts whispered.

And if there was, indeed, something the matter with him, it would at least explain the way he had been acting. 

It was worth a brief investigation.

Taking a deep breath, Sif reached for the handle and opened the door.

One thing was certain: if something had gone wrong, Loki would have gone to the library.

* * *

“Has Prince Loki been here tonight, Master Librarian?” Sif asked the elderly, grey bearded man who stood behind a podium at the front of the library. 

He looked at her skeptically, probably due to her breathless state and flushed face from running all the way, and shook his head. “I did not see his royal highness enter, my lady.”

Biting her lip, Sif tried to calm the worry which rose in her throat. “Anyone else? Anyone in a great hurry, perhaps?”

“Hm...there was a person who came through about an hour ago, but I didn’t see his face. Tall fellow, wore a cloak-”

“Has he yet left?”

“I don’t believe so.”

“Where did he go?”

“I believe I saw him turn into row 74...perhaps 75...my eyesight is not what it once was.”

“What books are kept there?”

“My, you are inquisitive.”

“Please, just tell me!” She snapped.

The Librarian frowned beneath his bushy brows and sighed. “Row 74 is religion and occult practices, row 75 is advanced magic and potions-”

Sif did not wait to hear any more. Swiveling on her heel, she strode off down the long hall which ran through the isles of books. 

_ One...two...three...four… _

She maintained her pace until she reached the 75th row. It appeared to be alphabetized by subject, so she turned and made for the I’s, recalling how the open book had been on illusions…

But Loki was not there. 

She ran to the far end of the row.

Still, she did not see him. 

She was so sure he would be there!

Unsettlement turning her stomach, an idea dawned in her mind; she scanned the polished dark wood floors for more of the strange, blue, blood-like substance. Sure enough, there upon the floor were several inky drops leading in a scattered line down the row. Sif followed it until the drops came to an abrupt halt by the R’s.

There, level with her hand, was a book slightly protruding from the shelf. Crouching, Sif read the spine:  _ Revelation: The Magical Key To Any Door _ . The words were written in white, but upon the middle few letters were smudges of blue…

Sif reached out and pulled the book from the shelf. 

Instantly, as if a veil dropped, there was no longer a shelf before her, but a stairway leading down. 

She sucked in a breath and stumbled backwards. 

“What in damnation…” breathed Sif, clinging to the shelf behind her for support. In her left hand she still held the book, but where had the shelf gone which housed it? 

Gaining her footing once more, she cautiously approached the newfound opening and peered down the steps. Dim lighting from the torches on the wall provided some clarity; she could see to the bottom of the stairs, and a bit of the room to which they led. It appeared to have a stone floor, and from the flickering orange lighting, a fireplace. And if the fire was lit, then someone must have been down there.

Drawing the knife from her bodice, Sif began to slowly descend the steps, listening intently. 

Over the sound of her own pounding heartbeat, she heard the crackling of the fire, the scuffle of some creature (presumable rats,) and as she neared the bottom, a weak panting.

Upon reaching the last step, Sif’s eyes instantly fell upon a figure, hidden behind a cloak, sitting with their face to the fire.

“Halt and show yourself.” Sif spoke sternly, holding out her small knife in as threatening a stance as possible.

The figure did not so much as flinch, nor did they turn. Instead, he said in his familiar voice, “You cannot sneak up on me, Sif.” 

Her shoulders relaxed slightly. “Loki-”

“Why have you followed me?” His tone was slightly weak.

Declining to answer, she took a step deeper into the room. It was small, and dimly lit, with shelves of books and strange bottles lining the walls. At its center was a workstation laden with herbs and knives. “What is this place?”

“You did not answer my question, so I shall not answer yours.”

She glared at the back of his head. “I went to your room to return to you some of your possessions which had been left in my chamber. When I arrived, I saw the mess you’d left behind and grew worried.”

“Hm. I’m flattered.” He said dryly. Still, he did not turn. “But as you can see, I am not in any sort of trouble, so feel free to show yourself out.”

“If you were in trouble, I hardly think you’d tell me.” She said skeptically. Approaching him with silent footsteps, she carefully reached out a hand. Then, gripping the hood of the cloak, she threw it back and stepped around the prince to face him.

And instantly, her heart fell. 

Red eyes, surrounded by blue skin looked back at her.

Acting fast, she gripped the front of the Jotun’s tunic, lifted him out of his seat, and pushed him against the wall. He did not fight back.

“Who are you and what have you done with the prince?” She seethed, pressing her knife against his icy blue throat. The hilt grew cold upon the contact. 

His red eyes flickered to the ground.

“Answer me at once!” She pressed the blade firmer against him.

“I am the prince.” 

“Liar!”

“Would a lie not be sufficient proof?” His mouth turned up in a half-hearted smirk not unlike Loki’s. 

Her stomach twisted. “You are not Loki.”

“You will find that I am.”

“Why should I believe you?”

Rolling his eyes in a decidedly Loki-like fashion, he said, “Ask me anything. Anything I, Loki, would know.”

“Loki is the prince, there is plenty of public knowledge about him, I hardly think that would-”

“Shall I tell you something about you, then? You are Lady Sif. You are headstrong, arrogant, and reckless, but for some damned reason I grew to like it and you and I spent many a night together in the recent months.” 

Sif dropped the knife as her blood ran cold. Taking a stumbling step back, she frantically looked Loki up and down. “Is this...is this one of your illusions?” 

His face was not only a cool shade of blue, but now bore a delicate pattern, quite like ice fractals across his cheeks and chin. His hair remained the same, as did his clothes and general physique, but his eyes were red as blood. 

He took a step forward and cautiously reached out a hand.

Sif flinched away.

“Sif, put out your hand.” He commanded, not unkindly.

Heartbeat rising she did as he instructed. 

His hand lifted to touch hers, barely grazing her palm with his fingers.

His skin felt like a sheet of ice, almost burning her. 

She gasped.

“Do I feel like an illusion?” He murmured, his fingers traveling to her wrist.

Closing her eyes, her mind raced. “Loki, what is going on? How have you come to…”

“To look like this?” He let his hand drop to his side once more. “To...be this? For indeed, it is not just my appearance, my blood runs blue as ink. It would seem I have discovered a secret about myself that I had not been allowed to know.”

“I do not understand-”

“Nor do I. Why would the king cast a spell upon a frost giant infant and raise it as his own?” 

Sif flinched at the raw bitterness in his tone. “But how...how and when did you come upon this information?”

Crossing the room, Loki seated himself on the stool in the corner and sighed. “One week ago I was working on a potion, something for our army, which would cast a powerful illusion on anyone who drank it, magic user or no, and make them look larger and more intimidating. Very useful for our height challenged warriors. However, when I tried it out on myself, I found that I had made it a great deal too strong and was unable to remove the illusion with my usual spell. So, I-”

“...so you made the potion to reverse all non-self inflicted illusions.” She interrupted as the pieces of the puzzle snapped together.

He lifted his eyebrows and nodded. “Indeed. And obviously, it worked. I was simply not aware of just how many illusions I wore.” 

Sif was silent for a moment, her eyes tracing the lines of his face cautiously. “But, you...you made the potion again tonight?”

Looking at his feet, Loki’s shoulders sagged. “Yes, I-I foolishly hoped I had done something wrong the first time. Instead, it merely confirmed my fears. It would seem that I am, as you see before you, a Jotun.” 

“But why? Why were you raised as an Asgardian, why did the king-”

“Perhaps he hoped I would, in time, unite Asgard and Jotunheim, perhaps he pitied me, it is hard to say. I am as in the dark as you.” 

Sif paused, debating what to say next. Her chest ached to ask him if this was why he had been avoiding her, but her mind reprimanded her selfishness. She continued to argue with herself until Loki spoke again.

“Sif, I want you to know...I truly did not...I was not aware of what I am. That is to say, when we...I truly did not know that I am what I am, or I never would have…”

Sif’s eyebrows drew together into a confused line. “What are you saying?”

His voice wavered. “I am saying, had I known I was-  _ am _ \- a frost giant, I would never have kissed you that day in the dueling yard, or led you to my chamber. And if the memories now...disgust you, I understand and do not blame-”

“Do you truly no longer enjoy my company?” The question fell from her lips before she could stop it.

Loki looked taken aback. “What-”

“This morning, you said you...you told me that you no longer enjoyed my company.”

Looking away, Loki crossed his arms. “I am sorry.”

“But did you mean it?”

“Of course not. I simply said it so that you would stop trying to-”

“So had you not learned of this...this illusion, you would have been happy to continue as we were?”

“I hardly think that matters now.”

“It matters to me.”

He looked irritated, but shrugged. “Very well. Yes, I was...I would have been happy to continue as we were.”

Sif felt the coldness in her veins melting with warm relief.

Unconscious of the smile which now began to soften Sif’s face, Loki continued, “I was only cold to you because it did not seem fair to continue in that manner, fair to you, who did not know what it was that slept beside you in bed.”

Crossing the room, she reached out and cupped his face, despite the icy burn. 

He stared up at her, surprised.

“The memories do not disgust me, Loki. Nor does the face looking at me.”

“Sif, you need not try and spare my feelings-”

Falling forward, she pressed her lips to his. They were cold, like drinking from a frozen stream, but she hardly cared. For, after a moment, his arms wrapped resignedly around her waist and pulled her onto his lap. He clung to her as they kissed, a surprised desperation in his embrace. Kissing him felt the same as it ever had, despite the changes. He was still earnest and passionate, only colder.

After a long moment, Sif pulled away slightly, her hands still cupping his face.

Loki’s breath was heavy as he stared up at her, cautious tenderness in his crimson gaze. As her fingers moved gently from his cheeks to trace the markings on his forehead, his eyes fluttered shut. He turned his head and pressed a cool kiss onto her palm.

“You are not so changed,” murmured Sif, trailing her finger down the side of his face to his chin. 

“I feel the same.” He confessed, catching her hand in his. In a flash of green light, the blue faded to a pale blush, and the red left his eyes. “Only, I now know that I have been wearing a disguise. That this form I have grown to recognize as my own...is a lie.”

“Well, you needn’t disguise yourself around me. I do not mind the blue.”

“Really?” Loki looked skeptical.

“Hm.” Leaning close until her lips barely touched his, she nodded, “Milord, I have always had an affinity for winter.” 

And, after a flash of green light, cool blue lips met red. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! If you liked it, comments are super appreciated.


End file.
